


A tale of steel and angels

by FrancescaOwens1



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV), game of thrones
Genre: F/F, F/M, GoT au, Only wayhaught in the first chapter, others will join in the next
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 23:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15806889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancescaOwens1/pseuds/FrancescaOwens1
Summary: Nicole is a BaratheonWaverly is a TyrellForgive all my grammar mistakes. Posting this late at night when I probably shouldn’t. But got the inspiration to do so and wasn’t gonna waste it.Wynonna Earp got a, essentially this post for @haughtsbiceps, http://thoughtsofabritishtwin.tumblr.com/post/177422292130/a-tale-of-steel-and-roses





	A tale of steel and angels

Ours is the fury. 

Nicole had lived and breathed those words since her first memory. 

One where her mother sat her down and told her of the importance of her father. How he had taken up in rebellion against the mad king and now was fighting to earn his family the throne himself. One where her mother, whose face was beginning to fade in her mind in the present, had told her that she had had his love for one night before he returned to his troops and the fight for the princess Lyanna. One where she had set her mind to being a child, not merely a daughter, worthy of her father’s name. 

Baratheon. One of the youngest great houses in Westeros. The lords of the southern eastern Stormlands. With 8 vassal houses to their name and now seven kingdoms after her father’s victory.

She left her home at the tender age of ten and four summers. Leaving her mother and the small walls they lived in above the brothel where the older woman had worked. Taking only one set of clothes, enough money to buy space on the back of a cart to Fawonton and a knife that had mother had given her to keep her safe on her troubles. As the gods loved their jokes, it was also the last gift her mother would ever give her. 

After that, through each season, through the seemingly never ending storms and then scorching suns of summers, she spent her time earning favours with each of the vassal houses. 

At times training whenever the lords allowed, seemingly taking pity on her fruitless dream. Ignoring the sniggers of guards and other soldiers when she stepped out wearing men’s trousers. Or their calls to her when she first lifted a sword that was too large for her and promptly dropped it to her side and then fell down after it. 

At other times, learning and nearly failing to charm this courtier and that lady. Studying the history of each house after the local Maester had surprisingly taught her to read. Determined to know all there was to know about her father’s house so she might be worthy of his name when they met. 

She would use the features that the gods had given her to point out her heritage. The only problem being the red hair she inherited from her mother. Ignoring the ones who would call her bastard or dub her last name as Storm.

Fulfilling any task she could until one day she had earned a space in the wife of Lord Estermont’s carriage on their yearly pilgrimage to King’s Landing to pay tribute to the king. 

/

That was just over ten summers ago now. She had met her father,  
found her place in his court as a child he refused to recognise but favoured due to the memory of her mother, and decided that her family’s ancestral home of Storm’s end suited her best. Staying with her father’s brothers whilst Stannis remained the region’s warden.

She favoured her uncle Stannis best. Strong, iron willed and stone in his blood, Stannis was all that the Baratheon name should entail in her eyes. Despite the poor attitude of his wife and the less than pleasant company he kept. However, young Shireen often sat and listen to her read when her father allowed it. Due to her uncle’s preference to keep the full nature of her greyscale scars a secret to the rest of the realm. 

Her uncle Renly was a good soul to have at the dinner table, but they rarely spoke outside of that. He seemed more for show than anything else. He also kept interesting company. The Knight of Flowers amongst them. An interesting man from an equally interesting family.

Her father... was something else.

Far from the hero that her mother had painted. A heavy drinker, a heavy eater, a heavy... everything. Robert Baratheon now fully deserved the title of the Whoremonger king. It did not help that the family he had married into was ten times worse. The steely determination and stubbornness in her despised everything that the Lannister name had brought to King’s landing.

/

Her situation only grew stranger a season after that when her father announced that she was being sent with Uncle Renly to Highgarden to court favour with the Wardens of the South. 

Despite her inner need to point out that Renly seemed to be doing the job well enough on his own, she very quickly found herself packed with the very minimum and her mother’s dagger on her belt. As the carriage pulled onto the streets and off on their way to the last place she wanted to be.

The Reach. 

Leaving behind everything she knew once again to fulfil her need to prove herself to the men of her house. 

/

“Oh gods, sorry, I did not see you there” the voice of the heavens was the first thing she heard the moment her climbed out the carriage.

They had pulled up a field away from what appeared to the castle of Highgarden as the horses had needed to rest. From the journey up the stone roads, she had thought that despite their vanity, the southerners did spend their money wisely when it came to building beautiful fortresses.

Of all the things she had expected to see when she reached the South. It was not an angel. 

An angel plucking what appeared to be roses of all different colours. With a basket nearly full. With skirts that fell around her slim figure in waves of white and a bodice that covered only her shoulders and chest. Leaving a flat, toned plain of stomach and well tanned skin free for her eyes to take in. That and the brown waves perfectly woven into a braid falling over one shoulder.

An angel who as her words had implied, was completely unaware of their presence until a moment ago. Seemingly lost in her own thoughts as she went about her work, completely alone in that field. 

“Waverly, of house Tyrell” the angel spoke, her hand extending for her to presumably take. “My mother is by birth an Earp but since her marriage to my father, we all now belong to the house of Tyrell.”

“Nicole, of house Baratheon, daughter of King Robert Baratheon, first of his name” she replied reaching out to take the hand and luxuriating in the feel of such gentle and soft skin in her hand. Her mother’s had always been calloused and rough. Ironic, given her profession, if you could call it that. 

“Oh gods!” The angel exclaimed, dropping her basket as her face whitened in shock. “You’re the ambassador from storm’s end.” Her voice changed then, becoming even higher in pitch “I was supposed to inform Wynonna and aunt Gus the moment you arrived.” She seemed angry at herself but at the same time thinking of what she should do now. 

The angel looked around then, ignoring Nicole as she did, her eyes seemingly taking in all her surroundings and more as she tried to organise her thoughts “Please, wait here” she begged, meeting Nicole’s eyes for a fleeting second and revealing the greenest orbs she had ever been blessed with seeing.

And then just like that, the angel was gone. Having left her basket, turned to run towards what looked like the main keep, and leaving Nicole standing in a field of roses. Both dazed and overwhelmed as her brain went over the events of the last few moments.

Little did she know that the gods had sanctioned this as the beginning of the rest of her life


End file.
